“I will look after your da for ye. Trust me.”
Surprised, she said nothing.
“Stay back home this time.”
“Wait.” As he began to step away, she called to him. “Did he—my da—bid ye speak to me?”
“Nay, the harper,” Reagan said.
Finlay.
A thousand emotions tangled in Katrin’s heart. How could he? To go behind her back that way…
It made her angry enough to deny him after all. And, in so doing, deny herself.
Almost.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ahundred timesduring the course of that evening did Finlay question himself. Wondering over and over if he’d mistaken what had passed between him and Katrin in her chamber earlier. Whether it had been wishful thinking on his part.
Many lifetimes’ worth of wishful thinking.
Or, if he had not mistaken the invitation to spend the night with her, whether mayhap she had since reconsidered. Thought better of it.
Perhaps she’d reexamined the wisdom of leaving with her father’s men and decided she need not act in haste. That they had all the time in the world to come together, if she so wished.
He did not know. He repaired to his chamber late, wondering, wondering, and played upon his harp, listening all the while for footsteps in the corridor. For the sound of her chamber door opening and closing.
At last he did hear her come up the passageway to her door. She went in, and naught more happened. Had she indeed changed her plans, changed her mind? Had O’Hanlon convinced her? Or did she even now continue working at packing up her belongings?
He played on, his fingers moving across the strings even though his thoughts remained stuttered and frozen. Not until the latch on his door lifted did he cease.
There she stood, still in the wrinkled and soiled gown she’d worn this day long and with her hair half tumbled down. Gazing with a world of emotions in her eyes.
“I should be angry wi’ ye,” she said.
“Should ye?”
“Aye. Ye went behind my back and talked wi’ Reagan. Bade him dissuade me fro’ going wi’ my da.”
Finlay’s heart sank violently. He could not deny it. They would not be together after all.
“But I find—” She shook her head, her gaze holding his. “I find I canna be angry, at least no’ angry enough. No’ when there is so little time to spare.”
He set Brada aside and got to his feet, his heart—so he very much feared—in his eyes. He held his breath to hear what more she might say.
She glanced around the chamber before speaking in a whisper. “No’ here. Come wi’ me to mine.”
He slipped behind her, moving surely even though he could not feel his feet on the floor. At the door of her chamber, she caught his hand in hers, the touch warm and so much more than just the contact of skin on skin. She towed him inside and shut the door carefully behind him.
Her gaze met his, wide and pale blue, clear in the soft light of the candles.
“Here is your chance, Finlay, to tell me nay. Do ye still want to be wi’ me?”
Still. Always. Eternally. He had no words, so he stepped up and pulled her into his arms.
He wanted to kiss her, every separate part of her, he did. Instead he tipped her chin up gently and sought to determine what lay in her eyes.
